


The Unkindest Cut

by Small_Hobbit



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 13:10:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20760890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: Inspector Hamlet Dane is called to investigate the actual death of Julius Caesar during a student production of the play.





	The Unkindest Cut

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stamets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stamets/gifts).

Inspector Hamlet Dane quietly entered the hall. He nodded to the constable on duty at the door and made his way to the space which had clearly been set up as the stage and where there were a group of people gathered. Amongst them, Sergeant Bernardo was standing on one side, waiting for the pathologist to finish examining the body. Meanwhile, Horatio, the SOCO, was taking photos and making copious notes.

Horatio looked up and gave Hamlet a quick smile, which he returned. Although both worked for the police, it was unusual for them to be involved in a case at the same time, and Hamlet still found it strange when they met in an official capacity, especially when they had last seen each other over breakfast in their flat.

“Where’s the audience?” Hamlet asked Bernardo.

“There wasn’t one. This was a dress rehearsal. Francisco and Marcellus are taking statements from the other actors and such stage crew as there were.”

At that moment Yorick, the pathologist, stood up. “I can confirm it was death by multiple stab wounds. My initial thought would be that two people were involved, but I shall be able to tell you more after the post-mortem. I assume you’ll release the body to me once you’ve finished your preliminary investigation.”

Horatio joined them. “I’ve got all the photos I need for now, so you’re welcome to him.”

“Thank you,” Hamlet said. “If you and Bernardo would come over into the corner, you can fill me in with the details you’ve got so far. All I know is the Chief Superintendent told me it was an ‘arty-farty case, right up my street’.”

“Yes, well,” Bernardo said. “It was a student production of _Julius Caesar_ but updated to make it relevant to our time; at least that’s what the director told me before bursting into tears.”

“And someone decided to use the opportunity of having several people stab Caesar to use an actual dagger. Or two people, if the pathologist is correct. I don’t suppose the actors had designated places to stab so we can work out the most likely suspects?”

“Oh no,” Bernardo replied. He took out his notebook. “The stage manager, who seems the most practical of the lot, said ‘They were told to strike Caesar at whichever portion of his body seemed most symbolic.’ So, if your character felt shackled by Caesar they could strike his feet. Or Caesar’s wife may feel her love had been betrayed and so she would strike at his heart.”

“Caesar’s wife wasn’t involved with the assassination.”

“She was in this version.”

Hamlet groaned. “As soon as you’ve got all the statements, and assuming there’s nothing that strikes you as particularly relevant in them, get back to the Yard and see what you can pull out of them which will be worth following up.”

“Yes, sir.” Bernardo stood up and went to find Francisco and Marcellus.

Hamlet watched him go, and then said, “Damn, I meant to ask him who called the police.”

“That was the stage manager,” Horatio replied. “Apparently everyone was supposed to leave the stage for what would be the interval, and when Caesar didn’t get up, she went over to him, found him bleeding and called an ambulance. They notified the police; a patrol car nearby attended and sent for us.”

They walked over to the stage area. “Was much disturbed?” he asked. 

“Having called the ambulance, the stage manager tried to stem the bleeding. My guess is he was already dead by this time, but you can’t blame her for trying. Otherwise I don’t think so. The props were from that act. The stage needed to be reset before the next act, but nothing was touched as far as I know.”

“Okay. Well, let’s see if we can find anything else out from the props.” They began to search amongst the scrolls, plastic urns and laurel wreaths which had been used to portray ancient Rome. 

“Oh, what’s this?” Horatio said.

Hamlet came over to peer inside the urn Horatio was kneeling beside. “Can you take it out?”

Carefully, Horatio reached inside and removed a blood-stained cloth.

“Is that fresh blood?” Hamlet asked.

“Oh, yes. I’d say whoever stabbed Caesar must have used it to clean their hands.”

“Or their weapon. If the cast returned their daggers, then the murderer would have needed to return theirs as well, to avoid suspicion.”

“Sadly, the daggers the cast used were those wooden ones kids have when they’re pretending to be pirates. As Bernardo was telling you, it was all very symbolic. They even decorated their own daggers, with meaningful designs. Yorick said to me he thought the murder weapon was probably a stiletto.”

“I wonder …”

“What?”

“The wooden daggers still should have been handled after the murder. Let’s go and see if we can have a look at them, we may just find something of interest on one or two of them.”

They walked across the hall towards a door which led through to where all the backstage activity had been. Everywhere was quiet, the actors and stage crew had been told to leave after their statements had been taken, and Hamlet and Horatio had the place to themselves.

As they walked, Horatio’s phoned pinged. He glanced at it. “It’s a message from your mother, asking me to remind you about the plans for this weekend.”

Hamlet groaned. “I’ll tell her that I’m in the middle of a complicated case and can’t make it after all.”

“That will go down a bomb.”

“All right, I’ll say we’re coming up Saturday afternoon, in time for Ophelia’s engagement party, and then coming back first thing Sunday morning.” They had found a box containing a number of daggers. “I’ll do it later. In the meantime, let’s see what these can tell us.”

Hamlet put on a pair of gloves and began to remove the daggers one by one, placing them on a table nearby. 

Horatio carefully examined the daggers. “That’s interesting,” he said. “There’s traces of blood on the edge of this dagger.” He pointed it out. “And possibly a couple of specks near the top of the blade of this one.”

“Have we found the guilty parties?”

“Possibly, or at least one of them. We should be able to get a partial fingerprint from the dagger’s edge. I think the specks are because whoever was stabbing Caesar put their dagger too close to an actual wound.”

They looked at the row of daggers which were now laid before them.

“At least we should be able to identify who had which dagger, given that they are all decorated. Can you get a picture of the daggers and I’ll get Bernardo to arrange for someone to tell us who used which one?” Hamlet asked.

“That’ll be easy enough. If I concentrate on the handles no-one will see the blood specks.”

“I’ll leave you to finish up while I head back to the station. I’ve no idea what time I’ll finish tonight. I’ll give you a ring when I’m leaving.”

Horatio leant forward, gave Hamlet a quick kiss and then returned to the task of photographing the daggers.

###

They met up later at the pub which was round the corner from their flat. There was a football match on, so everyone was gathered in the main bar watching the television, which left the smaller bar practically deserted.

Horatio went to buy their drinks and was carrying them over to the table when he saw Hamlet pick up his phone. He stopped to give Hamlet some privacy in case it was a work call, but Hamlet waved him across as he answered it.

“Hello, sweetie,” he heard from the phone and recognised Ophelia’s voice. “I’m just phoning about this weekend. Is there any chance you could give Laertes a lift up with you? My stupid brother’s pranged his car again.”

“Sorry,” Hamlet replied. “I’ve got a case on so we’re not going to be coming up until Saturday afternoon.”

“Fair enough. The idiot will have to get the train. It’s his own fault, I don’t have any sympathy. Ooh, it’s not the case with the dead Julius Caesar is it?”

“How did you know about that?”

“I was at school with Ozzy Osric. She’s written all about it on Facebook. She’s all ‘Isn’t this exciting, but terribly dreadful. Here’s all I know about it.’ Which frankly wasn’t a lot.”

Hamlet sighed. “I do wish people wouldn’t do that.”

“She said he’d been stabbed with a wooden dagger, which makes little sense to me.”

“You don’t expect me to comment, do you?”

“Of course not. I bet it was something like a stiletto. And no, don’t answer. I can remember Mummy used to have something she called a stiletto. She used it for her goldwork.”

“Goldwork?”

“A form of embroidery. She went to classes with Ozzy’s mother, and Rosie Crantz’s mother, too. Rosie’s in the same drama group, but at least she’s not posted anything on Facebook.”

“Oh!” Hamlet hurriedly passed the phone over to Horatio, with a muttered, “Finish this call for me.”

There was a slight pause and Ophelia said, “Hamlet, are you still there?”

“Sorry, Ophelia, it’s Horatio. Hamlet’s just had a call come through on his work phone I’m afraid.” A half-truth, Horatio felt, was better than no truth, and Hamlet was on his work phone, although making the call, not receiving it.

“Okay. You are still coming up with Hamlet, aren’t you?” Ophelia asked. “It will be so good to have one normal human being there for when Dad blows up at Laertes about yet another massive repair bill for his car and Claudius lectures Hamlet on becoming a policeman when he should have been delighted to go into the family business.”

Horatio chuckled. “I’ll be there. But it looks like I shall have to leave you now. Apparently, Inspector Dane requires his personal forensics expert.”

“Of course. Take care and I’ll see you Saturday.”

###

Horatio finally got back to the flat in the early hours of the morning. He had done all he could and had left Hamlet completing all the necessary procedures. Horatio knew it would be some time before Hamlet returned so he went to bed; there was no point in waiting up. He also knew Hamlet wouldn’t be able to sleep once he did get home, but would be turning everything over in his mind, assessing every little detail. By contrast, Horatio was happy he had done all he could, and would be asleep in less than five minutes.

Horatio woke to the sound of Hamlet pottering around the flat and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. He stretched and got up.

Walking into the kitchen he kissed Hamlet and said, “What time did you get back?”

“About half past four. There was no point in coming to bed and disturbing you. I’ve done all I can at the station, and we’ll have to wait for solicitors, so I’ll grab a couple of hours sleep before I go back in.”

“Have you any idea about the motive yet?”

“Not completely. We do know Cornelius Voltemand, aka Julius Caesar, was at one point in a relationship with Rosie Crantz, but, according to a number of the statements, they split up about a month ago. After which she started going out with Guido Stern.”

“And Stern’s dagger was the one with blood on the edges. But Ozzy Osric’s dagger was the one with blood spots on the tip.”

“Except we know from Osric’s dreadful Facebook posts she was standing next to Crantz when they all stabbed Caesar, which would tie in with your theory about being close to one of the actual stab wounds.”

“Could you use that in evidence though?”

“Theoretically yes. Not that I’d want to, but it all helps to build up our case. Finding two stilettos in Crantz’s sewing kit will be rather more pertinent though.”

“Bernardo’s face when you asked Crantz, ‘But this is basic cross-stitch, why would you need even one stiletto?’ was priceless.”

“The benefits of rapid Googling whilst on the way to see a suspect,” Hamlet agreed.

“Does this mean, now that the case is more or less sewn up,” Horatio paused, and Hamlet obligingly groaned at the pun, “We are going up to your parents this evening after all?”

“What, and give flaming Laertes a lift, as well as sitting through a tedious family meal? Certainly not. I shall have far too much paperwork to do.”

“Methinks you do protest too much.”

“Aye, well, there’s method in my madness,” Hamlet replied with a wink.


End file.
